I decide on (apropos)I retreat from (arctic snow)The dregs of discourse (will fill the void)For a new world order (will suck you in)

The walls are coming in againThe sound keeps you hemmed to the pastThe streets grid alone from the doorYou gotta spin the fucking treadle...In a pile of days between no oceansAll the kids are riotingThere's no art in a broken headAll the kids are staying fat

And I'm air-kissing, back-slappingCheck the body for valuablesIt's called progressCome on pilgrim sing to the pyresIt's called progressIf they want to kill themselvesThen buy them the gownsIt's called progress